


Every Breath You Take

by FromMyBalcony



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, If you only read one work by me, M/M, Open to Interpretation, POV Stiles Stilinski, SO MUCH TEARS AND 90S MUSIC, Scott's a good friend, The Author Regrets Nothing, Weddings, don't read this if you get butthurt easily, there's more than hits the eye, unexplained plot holes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 08:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20636144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromMyBalcony/pseuds/FromMyBalcony
Summary: Derek's getting married.But not to Stiles.





	Every Breath You Take

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO MY FLUFFY FURRY FRIENDS.
> 
> EDIT:
> 
> I'M READING SOME OF THE COMMENTS AND PEOPLE ARE SAYING THEY HATE ME (I'M SO HURT) OR SAYING DEREK'S THE "WORST".
> 
> FIRST OF ALL, DON'T READ THIS IF YOU GET BUTTHURT EASILY. DON'T READ THIS IF YOU CAN'T TAKE A BAD ENDING. There's no point in saying you hate ME or DEREK when it's JUST A FICTIONAL story. It's just a dead dove I came up with because I"m a sucker for angsty stuff. So if this TRIGGERS some kind of insecure version that resides inside you and now you're suddenly too depressed for school or something, PLEASE KEEP IT TO YOURSELF. Thank you. 
> 
> AS you saw from the summary, Derek Hale is getting married and Stiles wouldn't be his spouse. There's fluff, tears, and I almost cried when I read this.
> 
> As you read on, you'll get a good idea of what Stiles is going through and you might get your own idea as to why Derek is such an asshole. I have my own madness behind the idea, so if all goes well I'll add a story written from Derek's POV. I hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> My inspiration came from Damien Rice's song Cheers Darlin'. If you want to have a playlist going as you read this (which I HIGHLY suggest), please go on youtube and search up Cheers Darlin', Every Breath You Take (the prom song and what Stiles listens to in the end), With or Without You by U2, and Silhouettes of you by Issac Gracie. These four songs should get you to the end. Add these four into a playlist, I'm sorry I couldn't do so for you but I can't log into my google account so I can't log into Youtube. :(

When he got the invitation, Stiles thought it was a joke.

He had just gotten back to his apartment from university, where he was going to graduate school with a masters in criminal justice. He had gotten a degree in philosophy already, but under his dad’s vehement encouragement he decided he would be applying for FBI after his graduation next year.

He never really saw himself as someone in the “FBI”. Everybody else thought so too, that with his constant jokes and good humor he’d go on as a journalist, an actor or even a comedian.

But again, nobody is really who they seem to be. On the outside, he seems like someone who’s got everything going for them. Editor of the school paper, honor member of the track team, studying in fucking STANFORD, with a loving dad and lifelong friends. But on the inside, he’s so weak he might come apart at the slightest touch.

The flat was dark as always. Stiles tiredly made his way through the living room before plopping down on the couch that always felt too empty. He turned on the television just for the sake of it. As he shifted through the letters (electricity bill, _Science_, an ad from a local grocery store, a carefully sealed envelope----. Stiles paused and inspected the envelope. It had a stamp on it and everything? And in GOLD too.

There’s no way he applied to some prestigious British institute, unless he was wasted. Laughing to himself at the idea, he carefully teared open the paper and slid out its content. There was a single, rectangular card, printed in a tasteful gold and blue. 

On the very front, it read _Derek Hale_ and _Spencer Torres._

**

Stiles was silent for a moment, wide amber eyes helplessly fixed on the cursive D of Derek. He was afraid to read on. Afraid to breath. Afraid to exist. Afraid of what his mind’s screaming at him, a jeering laugh echoing in his brain, repeating that he’s being abandoned. His heart began beating faster and faster until he actually couldn’t breath. He stayed there, his back rigid and his pale fingers grasping the cardstock for a whole minute.

He forced himself to go on.

** **

He read it several times to make sure it wasn’t a morbid joke Scott was playing on him. But his best friend knew better than this. How Stiles was barely functional for a whole week. How Stiles’ lips used to quiver with the mention of Derek’s name. **From Lovers to Partners for life?** Where did they come up with this cheesy advertisement? Who even is this Spencer Torres guy? He sounds like some fake TV archetype like Spencer Reid, except instead of an adorable FBI genius, he would be a crack head cook who sells Oxy.

Stiles turned the invitation over and was confronted by two big, snickering boxes asking him to accept with blessings or decline with regret.A pen sat right in front of him, silent on the cold surface of the living room table, yet he couldn’t pick it up. The actual force and energy required to lift it seemed to just leak out of him even from just trying to imagine the wedding. Would they both be in tuxedos? Who’s going to walk whom down the aisle? What color would Derek and this Spencer guy be wearing?

It had only been nine months since things crashed and burned with his ex, yet there Derek was moving on like their eight years together meant absolutely nothing. Stiles blinked as he felt tears swelling up in his eyes. He stubbornly rubbed the back of his hands over his eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears. He felt as if his stomach was filled with bees. The butterflies that died the moment Derek said he was “bored” were morphing back to life. He couldn’t stop remembering and he couldn’t stop seeing---

_The door opened with a bang, two figures pressed against one other as they stumbled into the darkness. The night was a velvety blackness that swallowed everything with a tender, velvety comfort. Nothing could be seen, everything must be felt. The shadow with the slightly bigger build pressed the leaner boy against the wall, thirstily planting kisses all over his alabaster skin that shined in the moonlight._

_“Oomph-jesus fuck, Derek. You’re gonna make me wear a scarf again tomorrow. I really like the one you bought me with the little wolf in the fronhmph…” Stiles started, only to be caught off by a deep kiss._

_“You don’t need to go to class, you’ve already graduated…” Derek smirked as he thought about the plans he has in store. _

_“Still got two years of graduate school, mister.” Stiles bit his lip, satisfied by the grunt and the hardness pressed against his thigh. He traced his hand down hard abs and sneaked into Derek’s boxers._

_“You little shit.” Derek couldn’t rip off Stile’s shirt fast enough. They went out for a dinner tonight to celebrate him receiving his diploma. Stiles had been wearing a pair of skinny jeans and was clearly oblivious to the bartender’s ogling. He was unaware of his beauty, his intrinsic power to attract. _

_Stiles smiled, owning up to the title, “I’m your little shit. It's not fair that you're the one built like a GQ cover and you're still wearing clothes." He complained as Derek rolled his eyes and lost the pair of Calvin Klein. They clung to each other, drinking in kisses insatiably and trailing their hands all over each other's naked skin. In between each kiss they would laugh when they fumble or trip around shoes before finally collapsing onto their bed._

_They would wake up the next morning in each other’s arms. Stiles would study Derek's sleeping feature. Study his dark, messy bedhair and his luscious, luminous eyelashes. The tall, defined bridge of his nose and the trail of sexy stubble around his lips. Stiles would smell Derek's aftershave. _

_And he wouldn’t have nightmares. And he wouldn’t wake up with a vacant look in his eyes as he felt the cold sheets on his bed._

Fuck, he’s spiraling. Stiles shifted his eye away from the wall next to his bedroom, the place where they made out that night. Everywhere he looked, there lingered a memory. Everywhere inch of skin on his body carried a reminder. He was so tired of remembering.

A surge of determination rose in his chest. Stiles pressed his lips into a thin line as he hastily grabbed the Uniball and ticked the “attend” box. He ran downstairs and mailed it before he got a chance to change his mind. Hearing the soft thud of the letter sealing his fate, he unlocked his phone to text Stiles. 

** _Me: All that I’m saying is that if they didn’t WANT to be killed_ **

** _they shouldn’t have gone down to the basement_ **

** _But again were they ever really alive?_ **

** **

** _Scottyyy: Remind me to never watch horror movies_ **

** _with you again you insolent smartass _ **

** _Me: big boy word_ **

** **

** **

** _5:46 PM_ **

** **

** _Me: Hey._ **

** _Me: you going to D’s wedding?_ **

** **

** _Scottyyy: I was LITERALLY about to text you dude_ **

** _I just got the invite. FUCK NO _ **

** **

** _Me: Im goin_ **

** **

Stiles waited for about a minute, watching the iMessage bubble appear and disappear and appear. He could imagine his best friend's puppy dog eyes reeking disbelief, largening to an inhuman size as he confirmed Stiles's text. 

** _Scott: WTF???!!! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? _ **

** **

** _Me: Chill Scottie I have decided to give myself some closure_ **

** _ Can you and Allison please come and Lydia too_ **

** **

** _Me: COME ONNN _ **

** **

** _Scott: Fine. _ **

** **

** _Scott: Allison said okay too but if he even harms you_ **

** _one inch physically or emotionally we’re getting the hell out of there._ **

** _Lydia says she’s bringing a Taser gun and tasing that_ **

** _son of a bitch_ **

** **

** _Me: You were all friends before the whole breakup thing_ **

** _You don’t need to pick sides_ **

** _I’m fine._ **

** _Scott: Okay I_ ** ** _’m going to pick you up though _ **

** _I can’t wait to see his face when he sees you_ **

_WAIT WHY DID HE SEND YOU AN INVITATION??_

** _Me: Probably Spencer saw me in his contacts and_ **

** _added me or something, it’s no big deal_ **

** **

** _Scott: Still fucking cruel. I’ll be giving them a box_ **

** _of ladybugs for their wedding gift._ **

** _Serious._ **

** **

** _***_ **

He went to sleep that night looking out his bedroom window, the one that looked out onto the streets and half blocked by a cedar, the café just in the corner of the view. They used to go there for brunch after a preoccupied morning, and Derek would always order a dark coffee with too much milk. And there he was, going to Derek’s wedding next Thursday. And he wasn’t ever going to be able to binge watch criminal minds or the Real Housewives of New Jersey with Derek again. And he suddenly wanted to go back to the post box and dig up the mail and rip it and flush it down the toilet and set a fire to the whole damn wedding and maybe run his car off the golden gate bridge and maybe he’ll see Derek in the ICU and what if he’s paralyzed what’s his dad going to do it’s not like he can be an FBI agent anyway and he’s going to ruin all their lives and oh god he’s spiraling oh god

Stiles jumped up from his bed, bobbing his head and trying to blink the tears away. He stood up and went over to the little wooden stand by the window, where a record player stood. He picked out a Vinyl he played a thousand times before, the album _O_ by Damien Rice, one of his favorite singers. He used to listen to the playlist with Derek and talk for hours, like the metaphors in _Delicate_, or who they thought he sang _The Blower’s Daughter_ to. And he remembered the track _Cheers Darlin’_, which he listened to nonstop after their breakup, like a sulking teenage girl. But today, he never related more to the lyrics.

_Cheers Darlin’_

_Here’s to you and your lover boy_

_…_

_You gave me three cigarettes to smoke my tears away_

He sat on his bed, listening, looking at everything that reminded him of Derek, and how submerged he still was in his love, and he hated how he loved.

And before he knew it, December 13th, 2020 came rolling around the door and hurling him off his feet. He was wearing the suit he wore to his senior prom (oh shut up, he’s saving money), but it still fit quite nicely because he went through his last growth spurt before he bought it. He was always slightly shorter than Derek, though.

He looked in the mirror, at the suit that hugged his body at all the right places, and he couldn’t help but go back again.

_The lights were dim and the music loud. Stiles hated the music, a monotonous EDC that droned on forever. He wanted some words, damn it. You know what would be good? Any song by Journey. Derek loved Journey._

_But he was there with his friends, with his boyfriend, surrounded by a huge group of people. He couldn’t be happier. He fetched a ride with Lydia and Jackson, rolling his eyes in the back seat as they planned out Jackson’s Cornell life. Who knew the bastard could get into Cornell? Apart from that, the ride went how it always went: him complimenting Lydia’s dress and Jackson threatening to kill him._

_Smirking as he jumped off the car, he saw Scott and waved goodbye to the couple to go in the gym with his best friend. It was packed, ecstasy (not the drug) radiating off students who had their whole lives ahead of them. The light was dark, fake stars sparkling on the ceiling due to the “Midsummer night’s Dream” theme, which was corny but surprisingly romantic._

_Then he saw him. Derek. Standing in the opposite of the room. You know when you see the person you love and you just think to yourself, that’s it? That’s my life? That’s my hope and my fears molded into one perfect suit of skin and flesh? Well, that’s how Stiles felt, standing there as naked as he could feel and breathing borrowed air._

_He slowly walked over to the dark haired god, taking into account how his thighs filled out in those pants and how tall he was and how chiseled his jaw is and how his cheekbones were so FUCKING KISSABLE and how he smirked at Stiles’ dumbfounded expression. _

_“You look, amazing.” Stiles stammered. _

_“Not when I stand next to you.” Derek returned, a coy smile growing on his lips. They talked about everything, from where they’re gonna live later to the Europe trip that summer to their lunch plans tomorrow to playing Call of Duty to reading fantasy novels to why Aristotle isn’t pronouncing like Chipotle. Then they danced._

_There were way too many songs. But he remembered one near the end. It was a slower one, one where he would listen to and fantasize about over and over again. _

_“You know, I never told you how good your ass looks in those.” Derek muttered, his breath warm and hitting Stiles’ ear._

_Stiles smiled a knowing smile, making a low voice in his throat, sticking his tongue out and licking Derek’s bottom lip. _

_“Fuck, you can’t just do that.” Derek inhaled sharply, the tips of his ears growing red._

_“I can do whateverrrr I want.” Stiles purred, “but I want to do you.”_

_Derek’s hand around Stiles’ waist tightened, the two of them just grinning softly and looking at each other. Their faces inched closer to one another’s, each of them looking at the other one’s lips like they’re the most beautiful thing they ever known. Stiles finally reached forward and eagerly deepened the kiss, his hands dancing all around Derek’s back. He could smell the face wash Derek used, it was strawberry flavored. He loved strawberries._

Stiles’ eyes grew sour again, he wondered how he could get through today, an idea growing in his mind that he could just wear a rubber band and snap himself each time he wants to cry.

Scott texted him he was ready. He grabbed the gift and locked the door, breathing in heavily as he went downstairs. That night not so long ago, as he listened, he realized he wanted to give the vinyl to Derek. The vinyl with so many grooves and folds that ached of sorrow and tucked away memories inside its dusted cover. Maybe Derek would know that _Cheers Darlin’_ was the words Stiles wanted to say to him. 

Maybe he wouldn’t.

It seemed like Lydia called shotgun, so he slipped into the back seat. Allison was to the left.

“Hey.” He greeted, trying to appear relaxed.

The three of them replied normally. A bit TOO normal. Usually Allison would sweetly hug him, Lydia would acknowledge his existence with a smile and nod, Scott would give a puppy grin and start chatting as soon as possible.

But this time, the three of them just studied him as they drove on in unanimous silence.

“Uh, why are you watching me like I’m Ted Bundy?”

“What are you talking about?” “No we’re not.” “Ew no.” The three musketeers looked away to different directions, each sneaking peaks every now and then. Stiles snorted.

The half hour drive got less awkward (thank GOD), and by the time they arrived all their stomachs hurt from laughing.

The Monchario Ballroom Hotel was grand. The reception would happen there, but the wedding ceremony would take place in the Monchario church, or so he was told.

They arrived just on time, but there were a lot of people huddling in front of the church already. He recognized a lot of them, mostly from high school. The building was ridiculously tall, but it wasn’t anything noteworthy, or so Stiles thought. It was just, well, a church. He never imagined himself getting married in a church, it seemed too formal. He always wanted it by the sea, outdoors on a white sand beach, surrounded by the closest families and friends.

Everyone turned to look at him when they slipped out the car, hoping to see him crumble apart and get Derek to jilt this Spencer dude. But he refused to show any sign of weakness, casually scanning the site. The hush only lasted for a few seconds, then everybody got back to conversing like nothing ever happened. They figured that Stiles and Derek ended when they graduated, and they made peace or something. But only Stiles knows what happened.

Maybe a bit too clearly.

_Derek had gotten progressively cold. He left as soon as sex finished, leaving Stiles alone on the bed. Stiles would pout and ask for him to stay, but he’d make some random excuse and hurry off. Their regular Friday night movie and dinner were no longer a regular, but a rare occasion._

_Stiles couldn’t figure out what he did wrong. He kept texting Derek, keeping the conversation going, dealing with the one worded, monotonous answers thrown back at him. He even suggested not using a fucking CONDOM. But Derek refused, looking at Stiles with a kind of shock, but Stiles missed the undertones of guilt and the hurt because he was too busy trying to dig a hole in the ground._

_They made plans for dinner one Friday. Okay fine, March. 6th, Stiles remembers the date._

_They made it at this little Italian restaurant halfway between their apartments. Derek had graduated a year earlier from Berkley, training to take over his family business. They originally lived together after Derek’s graduation, but the young CEO-to-be re-rented the apartment he had near Berkley so it would be “easier to get to work”. _

_Of course, Stiles didn’t buy it._

_He dressed up. He wore the dark blue plaid shirt Derek always loved and a plain tee (NO GRAPHICS, WHICH MEANS HE’S SERIOUS), a pair of washed up jeans (NO HOLES) and a pair of Chuck Taylors (KIND OF NEW). _

_He went in and found the man sitting in their usual spot by the window. He couldn’t help but frown at the tired look that painted Derek’s face, how tired he seemed to be._

_“That can’t be because of me, can it?” He thought._

_“Hey sourwolf. You’re early, no big life-changing contract today?” Stiles joked, sitting down and grinning._

_Derek returned a weak, forced smile, “I already ordered for us, is that alright?”_

_Stiles nodded furiously, glad his boyfriend could still remember his complicated order, “hey is something wrong??”_

_Derek shook his head, “let’s just finish our meal first.” _

_This was where they first said “I love you” to each other. On Stiles’ birthday dinner during his first year of college. He nearly fainted when Derek whispered those three words like a prayer. _

_Stiles couldn’t help but remember when he chewed the steak, which was now tasteless. He quietly observed the contour lines of Derek’s nose, the shadow of his shaking eyelashes, how plump and pink his lips are. He caught the man doing the same when he looked up after cutting his steak._

_Smirking, he asked, feeling strangely happy, “I’m almost done here. You know, after we finish, let’s go back to my house, you haven’t been there for a long time, I try really hard for the pillows to still smell like your amazing peach flavored shampoo because oh god it just smells so fucking GOOD and like YOU. We can read or bake, then maybe take a shower and have se—“_

_“I need to tell you something.” Derek interrupted, his tone grave. He set down his knife and fork, wiping his mouth with a napkin. _

_“That you’re a werewolf?” Stiles cracked, but stopped once he realized Derek was serious. The light hearted expression fell from his face like closing drapes, and they never opened again._

_“No. I---“ Derek started, his eyes shaking heavily like he was terrified, “I…” _

_Stiles waited, gazing into those eyes he looked into for so much of his life, the sublime radiance of colors. What colors are Derek’s eyes? Hazel? Black? Green-golden? How is it that his are so majestic and mystical while Stiles’ are just plain ol’ brown? _

_“I…” Derek sighed, “I want to break up.” His tone suddenly became weighted._

** _ ***_ **

** **

_“What?” Stiles felt himself ask, but he wasn’t sure if it was him or someone else. He felt like someone took a rock and just smashed his lungs and his heart to a pulp. And Derek used it as sauce to serve at a dinner party. _

_“I want to break up.” Derek sat up straighter, watching his lover shake. _

_“What? This doesn’t make sense, Der. Why? Is it something I did?” Stiles felt himself become more hysterical, his voice becoming more high-pitched like a woman in some Spanish soap drama. Is this what it feels like to have your whole world fall apart? He tried to reach his hand forward to find Derek’s, but stopped midway._

_“No, no, it’s not… It’s me. I’m just, I’m just bored.”_

_Stiles wanted to laugh and pound his fist while weeping. He made Derek BORED. He talked and talked for nine fucking years and now he decides he’s BORED? _

_“Oh.” Stiles couldn’t come up with a clever comeback. His eyes shimmered with tears, blurring his vision, his face flushed and his hands visibly shaking. He tried to stop it. _

_“I’m sorry if this hurts you. You’re just so…NEEDY sometimes. You always put yourself first and it’s annoying. I don’t like the movie nights, I never did. It’s just, dating you has felt like a chore rather than a pleasure.” _

_Stiles stared, his mouth gaping. He didn’t look at Derek anymore, he looked at the leg of a chair. He twisted the fork in his hands, counterclockwise then clockwise. His brain registered these words slowly. Derek knew these allegations would hurt. Derek knew Stiles hated feeling like a burden, an imposition. Yet now he’s using all those knives Stiles polished for him and sticking them one by one into Stile’s heart._

_He raised his head again, at Derek who was studying him composedly. As if Stiles was here to put up an act and Derek was just an audience amused by the show. He tightened his fist, mouth opening and closing, trying to speak. But his throat was too dry and he felt tears that were tumbling out of the brim of his eyes. He stifled a few moans or whatever sounds that were coming out of his throat._

_He needed to get out of there. Or he might collapse in front of elderly couples and families just out here trying to enjoy an adequate meal, making the headline for tomorrow’s **PATHETIC TIMES.**_

_“I…I didn't realize you felt that way,” He found himself choking out, “I-I’m sorry. I promise I’ll never bother you again.” Stiles felt angry, infuriated and yet so soul-crushingly WOUNDED. He couldn’t help the stray tear that rolled down his cheek, wiping it off forcefully and getting up. Before he left, he dug up a ring box in the bottom of his jean pocket. He had saved up for it using salaries from six months’ worth of part time jobs. He didn’t want to keep it._

_“I, I was going to uh, propose to you. Haha that’s funny right, given the circumstances? I don’t know, I thought you were going to propose to me first but lately I didn’t get that impression anymore. So I figured why the hell not! You can sell it or throw it away if you want, I get it. Totally fine. TOTALLY. I—I’m rambling again, aren’t I?” He looked at Derek, trying to search for some sign of remorse or regret._

_He found nothing. _

_Before he left, he looked back at the still figure sitting at their old table, he couldn’t see the man’s face due to the lighting. He smiled anyway, before stumbling out the door, waving frantically for a taxi, and sliding down his door sobbing. _

_When he came back to the restaurant, forced to take shelter because a storm got too big to even drive, the waitress asked him if it was the usual table._

_“No.” Stiles replied._

_“Just me.”_

_***_

The church bells rang, clattering among themselves like falling China, signaling the starting of the ceremony.

Stiles didn’t realize how fast this would be happening. How close he was to meeting Derek. And he wanted to run. But he couldn’t turn around, with people shifting in close to him, he got carried to the near front of the group, searching for Scott. He almost started calling out his best friend’s name when someone squeezed his shoulder. He spun around, finding Lydia smiling softly at him.

“Don’t you need to be with Jackson?” Stiles asked, seeing her boyfriend scuttle away.

“He’ll be fine, Stiles.” Lydia pulled Stiles in to an aisle, settling on the bench. They were uncomfortably close to the altar, sitting in the third row. To be honest, Stiles would’ve rather watched hiding below a floorboard. He saw Cora and Laura sitting in the front seat. They looked back a few times, lingering their stares on Stiles.

Stiles shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “I never should’ve have come.” Lydia regarded this answer silently by wrapping her fingers in with Stiles’ and glaring back at the Hale sisters. She didn’t let go throughout the whole wedding. A sappy, slow orchestra music started playing. Stiles hummed Radiohead inside his head. No alarms and no surprisesssssssssssssss.

Before he could react, the processional began. He saw Talia and Peter Hale walk in followed by a pair of man and women he never saw met, assuming this was this Spencer’s parents. They had on a polite smile, but kind of looked like they hated half the people there.

Probably him.

Next came in the officiant, the ring bearers, the flower girls, and a bunch of people he didn’t care for.

And lastly came the grooms. Or brides? He chuckled in his head at the thought of Derek wearing a wedding dress. He could vividly see the growl.

Two close figures appeared in the door, standing against the light. All the guests turned back to look at the center of the spotlight, beaming. Even Scott and Allison looked genuinely happy for the couple. Stiles felt his palm sweating. He tried to loosen the grip with Lydia but she wouldn’t let go.

Accompanied by violins and pianos playing, Derek and Spencer (Stiles is never going to get over this name) walked down the aisle slowly. Once they made it past the glaring sun, their faces could be made out clearly.

And shit, Spencer was RIDICULOUSLY good looking. Like, he looked like Tom Cruise and Chris Hemsworth had a baby. Ok, maybe that’s not the best metaphor, but still. He had a head full of messy blond hair that made him look like a model and really REALLY blue eyes. He was as tall as Derek, wearing a navy blue velvet suit that showed his extremely long legs and big biceps. Is he straight from a Calvin Klein magazine or something.

Derek walked next to him, dressed in a black tuxedo. He looked just like how Stiles remembered. He seemed pale, though, paler than ever. Yet he still manages to resemble a Greek god. He stood sturdy, each step taken with certainty. His kaleidoscopic eyes looked in front of him, unwavering. His black hair tousled to a perfection. He was perfect. This whole fucking wedding was perfect. His sinewy muscles hugging the fabric close.

His gaze wandered downwards, stopping at his left hand.

Which is holding someone else’s. Their fingers interlaced with each other’s.

And all of a sudden he couldn’t breath. A lump grew in his throat threatening to stop his airflow. He stayed there, unable to move and unable to look away. He held those hands so many times. They touched his naked flesh so many times. He held those fingers in his mouths before. They soothed him when he was breaking down. They held him when he was broken. And yet here they were touching another pair of hands as if they never touched his.

Stiles can’t help but picture himself. A wobbly, talkative, lanky loser who cries himself to sleep and has the mindset of a ten-year-old. With moles dotting his pale skin. Hell, he can’t even stand looking at himself. 

When he finally snapped back, he met Derek’s eyes. 

It felt so familiar. He climbed into those eyes after months and months of imagination. And it felt like he didn’t belong there. He fell out of those high chambers and impaled on thorns growing around the base of the tower. He just laid out there, bleeding. Exposed. Fragile.

He couldn’t see it, but Derek’s pupils shook heavily. He wanted to let go of Spencer’s hand, but remembered he can’t. He shouldn’t.

This confrontation lasted for a few seconds until Stiles ripped his vision away, turning forward.

Once the pair made it to the altar, they faced each other. Derek stood to the right while Stiles sat on the left side, so he could see Derek’s face fully. The officiant then began to speak words of welcome.

The rest was a blur. All he looked at was Derek’s gentle, loving face as he looked at Spencer. He wanted to be looked at like that. He continued humming Radiohead in his head. He wanted to disappear completely. He couldn’t BARE to think about the vows that were exchanged.

About being forever, in sickness and in health. Bullshit. Stiles gritted his teeth, hating himself for getting so enraged at something so “holy”. After they each recited something that made everyone cry or nod their heads enthusiastically, the ring were exchanged.

Derek took out a gorgeous silver ring with embedded diamonds shining on it, slipping it on Spencer’s lean fingers. He did it with such thoughtfulness and carefulness before adoringly grinning at his husband. Spencer did the same, only this time a ring with a glossy black band instead of a silver one.

Somebody said, “you may kiss the groom.”

And they did. A long one. Derek held Spencer’s face in his palms, the two of them pressed up against each other. Spencer’s hands went under Derek’s arm and wrapped around his waist. They didn’t split up for almost a millennium.

Stiles sharply inhaled at the scene. He didn’t think it would hit him this hard, but it did. Like he was swept off his feet into cold ice water. It felt like everything and nothing at once. Like drowning. It felt like an out of body experience, or maybe he was deaf because he was there but nobody seemed to see him. Or he was trapped in his worst nightmare.

How badly he wanted to taste those lips and to wrap his arms around Derek. To go home together and bake chocolate chips cookies while laughing and end up having a make out session. To go to comic con together dressed like Spiderman and Superman. Or even just walking home together after shopping for furniture and laughing while putting bookshelves together. Or cuddling in front of the fireplace when it’s snowing outside, him reading East of Eden and Derek reading poems by Octavio Paz.

Then, an unknown surge of panic come up. He used to get them when his mom died. Then again during university when his dad got in an accident and the murderer was still roaming around threatening to kill Stiles too. The culprit was eventually caught, but Derek was the one who helped him thought that horrible period of his life. The man would touch his spine, dotting his cheeks with small kisses and rock his body slowly, hugging him tightly. He would breath deeply with Stiles and whisper “everything’s going to be fine. You’ve got me. I’m never leaving you.”

Bullshit.

If this was an episode on Criminal minds, he would be pulling out a gun and shooting everyone. But this is reality and he isn’t deranged. So he could only sit there and take it. Maybe the anxiety attack was because he was scared he’s never going to recover from this. From the breakup, from losing the one he loved and consequently everything he’s ever known.

The ceremony ended with a recession, the happy couple striding down the aisle, leading the recession.

It was beautiful, everyone would go on to say.

***

The reception would take place from 4 to 8.

After dropping their gifts off at the reception line, they shuffled into the vast venue of the wedding, Stiles couldn’t help but be somewhat taken by how carefully planned everything is. Tables with huge vases of flowers and numbers and chairs so adorned they looked like they belonged in Louise XVI’s palace. The ceiling was extremely high and high windows rose on each side. It was before three so the afternoon sunlight poured into the rooms. The tables and desks weren’t marble and extra, but made of sturdy wood with golden tablecloths and silverware. The walls were made up of bricks that were a silvery-gold color, perhaps because of the sunlight. It was beautiful. The ceiling was made of glass as well, rising to a high dome in the center, a perfect touch to it all.

Derek was nowhere to be seen, only workers hustling around and making the final touches. Stiles made his way to table #9, squeezing himself in between chairs and “excuse me”-ing across the room, then he sat for a few minutes, staring out the glass panes. He knew he looked like he wasn’t okay, he looked like the archetype of a zombie. Pale, dead eyes, bad hair. People seemed to be pouring in and they never seemed to stop. Scott, Lydia, Allison and Jackson made their way to the table, shuffling in next to him.

Stiles smiled bleakly, looking around the enormous ballroom, a finger moving back and forth on top of his upper lip. He always used to do this when he was nervous, he nearly scraped his skin when he was taking the SATs (he remembers screaming in his head, these FOUR WORDS all MEAN THE SAME GODDAMNED THING). He stopped the obsessive moment when he saw the Hale family walk in. Cora’s hazel hair was tied up in a neat bun, Laura’s falling prettily down her shoulder, Talia leading them with Peter by her side.

They trudged quietly to the table in the very front. Stiles thought he might get arranged to some kind of obscure table in the very back, but he was just somewhere in the middle. Like he didn’t deserve any kind of special treatment.

Scott nudged him softly, “you okay?” Stiles looked to the left and saw Scott’s big puppy dog eyes blinking up at him, and smiled “yep.” Scott returned it, clapping him twice on the shoulder, as if to sooth him. 

But then Stiles wondered why he’s hiding this from his best friend for almost twenty years, why he’s hiding how badly functioning he is and how he STILL cries himself to sleep sometimes. How he’s terrified that IF he becomes an FBI, he might hurt everyone and everything around him.

“Actually,” He stammered, “I’m not. I-I have trouble falling asleep. I have trouble focusing. I have trouble getting out of bed. My heart beats like crazy. Ever since we split up it’s like I lost a part of myself and I’m scared I’ll never be able to get it back. I wonder if I’m not likable and if I’m a burden to you. And did you see that Spencer guy? How good looking was he? I mean, how can I even compare? Why did I even come?” He looked up, his eyes so full of fear it broke Scott’s heart.

Stiles sniffed, laughing dryly and hid his face in his hands, wiping his tears off. He looked up again shakily to find Scott looking at him, a soft look on his face.

“Stiles. You’ll be okay, this wedding was just a bit of a shock to you. It’s good you came; you can give yourself closure. However long you take to recover, I’ll be here. We’ll be here.” Scott embraced his best friend in an extremely tight hug. Stiles sunk into it, Scott always knew exactly what to say.

By then, Stiles realized that the rest of the table couldn’t help but overhear neither. Danny had somehow magically appeared along with Erica, Boyd and Issac and basically everyone else. Is that BRAEDEN, Derek’s girlfriend in ninth grade, he sees in the back? To be honest, this high school reunion came at a really bad time. It started to feel like a pity party with Stiles being the ultimate piñata. Allison realized how uncomfortable Stiles was and diverged the topic, “When did you guys get here!”

An explosion of greetings, high fives, hand shakes and hugs took place in the middle of the room. Stiles got up and of course, exchanged greetings and such with his old classmates. Some of them even had jobs now. Like Erica who’s starting her own records company or Danny who’s writing for NY Times and he said, hopefully Vogue later. Issac said he’s working in professional football and may even get a chance to play in the NFL, which triggered a series of exclamations and congratulations. None of them made fun of Stiles for still being in school, but bombarded him with questions about serial killers.

No Derek talk, which is good.

He grabbed a cocktail, exhausted from all the pretense and smiling so hard it makes his face hurt. Boyd next to him stared horrifyingly at the speed with which he gulped the alcohol down.

“Okayyyy and that’s gotta stop.” Scott hastily grabbed the empty wineglass away. So getting shitfaced isn’t an option neither.

After god knows how long of eyeing the hot DJ, arguing with Lydia over how carbon dioxide could be captured as a stable form (the premed student won like she always does), and sneaking off drinks, the music came to a stop. Everyone sat back down at their seats, allowing Stiles to see that about seventy to eighty people were here today. Which is funny, because he thought that there entirety of North America was crammed in here. The host thanked everyone for their patience, and announced that the opening dance was taking place.

The giant doors pushed open slowly, revealing Derek and Spencer. The crowd cheered and hooted as the couple proceeded into the center of the ballroom. Stiles couldn’t help but take notice of how Derek’s eyes lingered on him for longer than necessary. The center of the room had the biggest space, because the tables were arranged in a circle. And Stiles’ table happened to be right in the middle. He groaned and tried not to slide down his chair in frustration when he realized he was going to be staring right at the romantic slow dance.

Stiles thought about grabbing the hot DJ and just making out with him, maybe sitting on his lap and grinding slowly, because Derek loved it when he did that. He wanted to see those brown eyes fill with rage and agony, like how he remembers.

_“Damn it Scott I just need to know if the dude’s interested or not. It’s killing me.” Stiles complained, banging his head against his locker. They were kept late by coach Finstock (again) to run laps, so they were the only ones in the locker room._

_“Then just GO ask him.” Scott replied matter of fact-ly and rolled his eyes._

_“And watch him reject me? No, that’d be really REALLY sad like Brokeback mountain sad. I’m tearing up just remembering the movie.” Stiles pulled off his lacrosse uniform._

_“I was there when you bawled and ate two meat lovers. Look, all of his friends are our friends, I don’t understand why you and Derek can’t just TALK. You’ve been on about this mutual pining for weeks now, Stiles, and I’m tired of hearing it. Just go ask the dude or stop making me watch sappy movies with you.”_

_“MAYBE because he always stares at me in AP bio or tackles me WAY too much during practice or how when I look at him he’s always looking at me and looks away OR because he’s porn star material. But then whenever I smile at him he just stares back or even worse scowls, and he always knows something about the book I’m reading that I don’t know. Although I’m not sure if that’s a bad thing because he’s so hot.” Stiles tried hard not to imagine Derek as a school teacher in one of those films asking him to stay after class, “he’s like forbidden fruit, Scott.” Stiles added, taking his friend’s dejected sigh as an apology. _

_“You seriously need to get laid. You should go to the party with Union high tonight, maybe find some hot dudes. Or girls.”_

_“THAT again? Com’on Scotty you need to let that go. Besides, I’m not that desperate yet!” Stiles exclaimed._

_“Fine, but your crush’s gonna be there. And you bet your schoolgirl ass that he’s gonna hook up.”_

_Hearing this, Stiles accepted his destiny that Derek was going to be the death of him._

_The party was like any party. Only bigger, louder, smellier, and definitely hotter. Some students at Union high looked FINE but nobody seemed to pay attention to him. Scott slithered away to make out with this cute new girl in his class called Allie or Abigail, leaving Stiles standing in the middle of the room like a deer in headlights, searching for Issac or Danny._

_“You look lost.” A voice spoke up behind him. Stiles spun around fast that the speaker spilled his cup of beer onto his shirt, “shit I’m so sorry!” The guy was about six feet two, with blazing blue eyes and black hair. He looked like Tom Hiddleston but even better with some kind of Draco Malfoy feel to him (Stiles astonishes at how geeky he is). _

_Stiles opened his mouth, trying to come up with some corny line like “well you’re here now”. He just looked like he was trying to eat air. “Hi, I’m Stiles.” He managed to reply, licking his lips nervously at how the Tom Hiddleston apparition hungrily scanned his body. He totally, TOTALLY forgot about how his white shirt was just clinging to his body like a candy wrapper._

_“I’m Aaron. Haven’t seen you around before.” _

_“I’m Stiles. Yeah, I haven’t really been one to party. I’m more of a, uh, eating hamburger while researching obscure history kind of guy.” Great, Stiles mocked, tell the hottie all about your expertise on male circumcision. Aaron cocked one eyebrow up, before laughing like it was genuinely funny._

_“It’s been a long time since someone’s been that honest with me.”_

_“O-oh, I’m sorry. I don’t really know what to say to hot people hitting on me. Not that I’m saying you’re very hot, which you obviously are.” Stiles resisted the urge to slap himself._

_He didn’t notice a certain someone watching him across the room and grinding their teeth to dust. _

_“No no it’s a good thing. How do you say we dance?” He handed a solo cup over, filled with something that resembles beer but doesn’t smell even REMOTELY like beer. Stiles never really drank before, only doing so when he was extremely depressed. _

_Gulping, he looked into those blue eyes and saw a hint of something he didn’t like, but decided he wasn’t going to sulk around thinking about Derek and his low voice anymore. _

_Before he knew it, he was dancing in the middle of the room with Aaron plastered close behind his back. Stiles didn’t like how muddled that cocktail made him feel but still took another two drinks Aaron insisted on him. He suddenly didn’t want to lose his virginity like this anymore. To some gorgeous stranger he didn’t give two fucks about. He tried to squirm out but the heavy mess of bodies pushed back against him and only ended up giving him anxiety. _

_“You wanna get out of here?” Aaron whispered, breathing onto his ear from behind. Nodding, Stiles stumbled out behind Aaron, who was leading him upstairs. He couldn’t even stand straight, half leaning on Aaron’s shoulder and taking in a heavy whiff of cologne. _

_“Can I…Can I go home?” Stiles asked, his voice surly._

_“Oh no baby,” Aaron’s grip around his wrist tightened, “we gotta get you out of that soaked shirt.”_

_Stiles looked down, his shirt was still transparent from the beer and the sweat. People could see his chest and just about everything from the waist up through it. He never had REAL abs like Derek or Jackson, but he still had muscles defined enough to be identified as someone who exercised a lot. He chuckled, but stopped as a lump rose in his throat. He wanted to shout but he couldn’t. How big was this house? They must’ve went up like four flights. And each flight had what seemed like a thousand bedrooms._

_Aaron led him into a dark bedroom, turning on the bedside lamp. He recognized this as a master bedroom from the king sized bed and the ridiculously lofty furniture. Before he could spin around and ask what the hell they were doing there, someone pushed him down the bed._

_“What the fuck are you doing, Aaron?” Stiles demanded, well, more like mumbled._

_Aaron pinned him down, locking his arms by his side, “don’t play that innocence act. You know people were staring at you out in the dance floor. Hale was glaring so hard it made me kind of happy. Don’t tell me you got it hard for the star lacrosse captain, isn’t that just sweet?”_

_“Let me go.” Stiles protested, his voice raspy, trying to bend his knee to kick and dodging his face whenever Aaron tried to kiss him. He hated his goddamned weak body, tears rising up in his eyes and falling onto the bedspread._

_“Are you a virgin?” Aaron asked, hearing Stiles’ sobs._

_“Do I LOOK like someone experienced to you?” Stiles retorted, tensing at how fragile his voice sounds._

_“Even better.” This was even worse than Stiles imagined._

_Aaron got up and locked the door before pushing Stile’s numb limbs back down. Stiles opened his mouth to shout, although it was no where near his normal shouting tone, “Somebody he—“ Aaron’s tobacco scented hand clasped over his mouth, muffling whatever cries he made._

_“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Stiles?”_

_Stiles shook his head violently yet the person on top of him paid no attention. He bit his lips, looking out the window as he heard the sound of zippers open. _

_“With those tight black jeans, your ass looked so fucking good, I can’t wait to fuck into you like the slut you are.” Stiles shut his eyes, if he wished hard enough maybe he’d die right there._

_Suddenly, the door made a loud bang, like someone was trying to ram through the walls. Aaron lifted himself off the bed and zipped up hurriedly, cursing loudly. Before they could react, a blur crashed through the door._

_The intruder stood there for a few seconds, taking in Stiles’ heavily falling chest, the hickeys planted on his pale neck and the tears streaming down his cheeks. Then he made an inhuman growl, pouncing on top of Aaron._

_The two then began an all-out fight, one accompanied by punches and shouts. Boyd ran in a few seconds later with Issac, the two of them trying to break up the fight. Scott and Lydia ran in to ask Stiles if he was okay. _

_Stiles sat on the bed blankly for a few seconds, before realizing that his savior was no other than Derek Hale, who was hissing like an animal even as Boyd pulled him off Aaron. The stunned rapist had a bruised lip and a black eye, along with blood pouring down his nose. _

_“What the FUCK HALE?” Aaron spat._

_“That, my friend, was a preview of prison.” Erica suddenly appeared from behind Derek, waving her phone, which captured the audio of Stiles desperately crying for Aaron to stop and the grotesque responses Aaron made._

_Aaron shrunk immediately, begging them not to use it or he could “lose his scholarship to Cornell”. But that was too late, as he was being dragged out by Derek to go to the police station, aka the sheriff._

_Very fun._

_***_

Jackson would later tell Stiles that he saw Derek glaring at Aaron, and how Derek stood there brooding the entire party, transfixed on Stiles and his skinny jeans.

There’s something very off about watching your soulmate, your love of your life, dance across the room with someone else. Derek’s hand was wrapped around Spencer’s waist, as the two slowly waltzed across the room. The sun was setting behind the glistening glass panes, creating an orange and pink hue that kissed every piece of land light could reach.

Derek’s face was lit up as well, though Stiles could only make out the side of his face. Luscious eyelashes framed two eyes that shifted color every time they turned, reflecting the image of his spouse’s face. His spouse whose slender fingers interlaced with Derek’s, whose hand rested on Derek’s broad shoulders that would offer him peace and comfort for so many nights to come.

And Stiles truly felt it.

What losing somebody felt like.

It didn’t even compare to anything after the breakup. It felt ten times worse. It was an influx of self hatred, anger, disappointment, hopelessness, but mainly just empty grief. He hated himself for choosing to be here, he was angry at himself for not being better, he was disappointed at the person who kissed him passionately in broad daylight, he was empty because he was. An earth-shattering thunderbolt that took its form in a dance split his body into half but nobody can see his corpse and he just sits there, limped and eyes settling on the several layered cake behind the couple.

He must’ve been in another place for a long time. He must’ve been there, in vacuum, breathless and shielded from the outside for a long time. His body didn’t react violently, his flight or fight instincts didn’t kick in. It was as if he had given up involuntarily. He wanted to cry but no tears came out, absolutely

nothing.

_They didn’t speak when Stiles came back._

_Their communication restricted to raised eyebrows during class, slightly pinked ears and crimson cheeks, shoulder brushes in the crowd and fleeting glances behind one’s shoulder._

_Until lacrosse practice._

_Well, AFTER, to be honest. _

_Lacrosse season was starting, so Stiles and Scott were no longer the only two made to do extra practice. _

_It wasn’t like Stiles WANTED to sneak peaks at Hale’s amazing abs or to-die-for biceps in the locker room, definitely not. But when he “accidentally” looked at the boy, he saw a giant purple and grey bruise that encroached itself onto Derek’s side. He tried not to react, though the bruise looked so gruesome he couldn’t imagine how Derek was playing contact sport, not without the help of Tylenol. Which happens to be in Derek’s locker._

_Stiles remembers hearing a pained grunt that night at Aaron’s house as the two of them wrestled each other to the ground. Derek hit the corner of the dresser. _

_He opened his mouth to speak, but struggled to produce any sounds and before he could gear up the courage, the shirt was on and the player was gone._

_Didn’t even turn back to look at him. That fucker._

Stiles’ stream of consciousness was cut off as he realized the newlywed was staring at him: his ex-almost-fiance, to be exact. He thought he saw Derek’s smile falter for a second, into some expression a blend between guilt, longing, and love. He’s saw that look for enough times to know what love looks like. But then it seems like Derek physically put up a mask again, a good husband mask, his vision only centered on one person.

Fuck, Stiles thought, I’m hallucinating. It felt like forever has past but the clock shows it’s only been two minutes, everyone was still watching the couple dance, approving looks dotting their faces. Even Scott looked on, his hand gripping Allison’s, like the dance has reminded him of his wedding.

(Which Stiles thought was totally better than this over the top wedding with two perfect grooms in a glorious church, by the way.)

The song slowly pulled to a finish and everyone clapped. As the applause died out, the host spoke through a microscope and invited everyone to say a few words.

Peter first seized the stage, saying a few teary eyed words about seeing his nephew grow up into the man he is. His closing remarks was the one that grabbed Stiles’ attention, though.

“I want to thank Derek for living his potential to the fullest, and for embracing pain like the warrior he is. And I hope he lives like the soldier he is in the days to come, no matter how hard.”

He looked over at the Hale table, where everyone gingerly sat, their eyes watering. Cora looked away, refusing to look at her Uncle and Laura’s seemingly frozen in her seat, her eyes an unreadable hue of grey. Peter seemed to realize what he said was inappropriate, making marriage look like a dreadful war rather than the dream it should be. He coughed, then began to divert everyone’s attention to the couple standing beside him.

Spencer clung to Derek’s arm, worried blue eyes looking sideways at Derek. Derek, on the other hand, looked on the ground before scanning his vision rightwards at his husband, then around the room.

Stiles didn’t have enough time to react to look away, crashing into his line of vision. The two stared at each other for a few seconds. Stiles smiled pathetically, waving his hand a bit, like an acquaintance passing by each other on the street. Derek faltered, shifting his weight between his legs, and casting his gaze away.

Stiles cursed, glaring down at his pale hand, cheeks heating up from the embarrassment.

“Is it too late to dunk my head in the chocolate fountain?” He whispered to Scott, who smiled sadly back at him, as the host introduced the next speaker.

Boyd, coming as Derek’s best man, stepped up and cleared his throat before starting. He went on about how long he’s known Derek, what kind of an asshole he is (even Stiles laughed at that), and what kind of a person hid behind that mask of “asshole-ness”.

“Derek is someone who would take a stake to his back for the people he loves. He is the kind of person who loves silently, the kind of person who wants to take the pain from everyone he loves. Someone gentle and silent until their loved ones are hurt. And I think Spencer’s really lucky to have someone like that. And Derek is even luckier to have someone who’ll accompany him through all of his, to put it positively, stubborn days,” Boyd chuckled, ending his speech.

Spencer’s mom, a gorgeous woman in her mid-fifties, wore a long silky white dress. She came up and introduced herself: the head of the neurosurgery department in a hospital, she met Derek in the hospital about a year ago, where Spencer happened to be doing his first year in cardio. Stiles frowned first at not knowing about this hospital visit, then at the thought that Derek could’ve started this new affair when they were dating. She went on about how Derek scared her in the beginning, looking disgruntled in the waiting room, and being in between the to-and-fro between Spencer, who pursued Derek to the death of him. And how ecstatic she was when Derek agreed a few months ago.

Spencer’s Best man (ironically named Aaron), a red head, then came up and talked about how dramatic his best friend was about their first date. Stiles didn’t bother to listen, only knowing that the speech was hilarious as some woman fell off her chair laughing.

The host then announced that the toast would end for now, continuing after dinner. The lights came full on, golden rays bounced off chandelier crystals, blanketing the room in a warm egg shell light.

Stiles devoured his steak and linguine, believing that if he ate as much as he could without bursting his intestines it would be payback for the emotional trauma. (It wasn’t nearly enough).

He occasionally looked up, sighing each time as the couple got nearer to their table, making rounds and drinking. Derek stood tall, listening intently, laughing as his eyes crinkled, shaking his head in disbelief at something Erica said. Spencer’s arm was hooked in his like an unbreakable lock.

Stiles chewed, looking down at his plate and the tiny piece of asparagus he has left. He didn’t notice how long he has been doing that, only looking up as he heard Allison call his name. Everyone else already pushed out of their chairs, greeting Derek and Spencer who were standing right in front of their table.

He smiled, tugging a corner of his mouth up. Stiles wanted to escape, and his defense mechanism was not comprehending anything at all. If he could stay in limbo, if he could just stop understanding, nothing would hurt him. Nothing.

He stared at the tip of Derek’s tie as the group joked, he laughed too, but he didn’t feel anywhere near happy. Everyone huddled their glasses together, wine sloshing in the cups and clinking sounds everywhere, “to Derek and Spencer!” He cheered with the others, but knowing his voice was so tiny nobody could hear. Scott and Lydia were similarly cold, not even bothering to mouth the words, their faces polite and somewhat irritated.

Before they left, Derek stood in his place, looking hard at Stiles. Stiles was studying the tablecloth, but he knew what it felt like for those eyes to bore into his neck.

“Why did you guys look like you were constipated?” Allison inquired after they walked away.

“He should be glad I’m even coming to this stupid wedding.” Scott shrugged, Lydia adding “Mm-hmm” as a sign of approval. Her knife scraped against the plate, her red nails making her look even scarier as she wasn’t cutting ANYTHING at all.

Allison let the subject go, making a noise that sounded like “well if you say so”, and dove into a conversation with Kira about where to practice archery.

After dessert (AMAZING crème brule, and fantastic chocolate triple layered cake, which were Derek’s favorites), the lights dimmed again. It was a quarter to seven, and the host came up to announce that each table was going to have a random guest to deliver a quick word of blessing or a toast.

Stiles could’ve went up and killed that man with the frustration, knowing there’s a 1/8 chance he’ll be picked. 12.5% is still a high percentage.

The table in the front was randomly picked first, and Cora won the lottery. Then Spencer’s dashing sister, then Issac, and they were the next table.

“And for table number four…”

Please let it be Jackson.

“Is there a M—z— “ The man’s face contorted, trying to read the name.

Fuck.

“That’s me.” Stiles raised his hand as his friends gasped.

“No, that’s me, haha Scott you’re so funny!” Scott gestured, giggling nervously.

Stiles rolled his eyes, leaning over and whispering, “I know you love me, Scott, but this isn’t your responsibility. I can handle it.”

Okay, maybe he can’t, so what, big deal.

The host looked between the two of them, panicking.

“I’ll talk, I’ll talk.” Stiles flailed, tripping on himself before walking to the center of the room.

He could see Derek standing in the front, eyes disbelieving and fists gripped. Derek’s eyes shot daggers at the host, smiling apologetically at Stiles as he came up to get the mic.

His hands were sweating; he could feel how slimy they were against the black metal of the mic handle. He settled in the middle of the room, everyone turning in their seats to look at him.

“Uh, so, hi.”

“Um, this was unexpected, if I’m going to be honest. I have a million things to say yet I don’t know how to start. Which is always me, if you ask anyone who has had the pleasure of being in the same proximity as me. So I’ll start small, I’ll start on Derek.” Stiles felt his heartbeat slow down.

“God, if there’s one thing I know, it’d be Derek Hale. I met him first in Beacon Hills high school, where he had the complexity of someone in existential crisis yet someone who knows EXACTLY what he’s doing. Derek has that kind of power on you, where you just want to know him no matter how stand-offish he may be. Like Peter has said,” Stiles waved again (smooth) to the Hale table, “if there’s one thing we should learn about not judging someone by their cover, it’s Derek. He cooks the best dishes, no matter how motorcycle biker he seems. He has a love for rom-coms and has cried reading children’s book, no matter what he says.” He smiled as everyone cracked up.

“And I can’t believe he has found the love of his life, “his voice cracked subtly, “I thought it would always be mozzarella sticks, but it’s instead this blonde gorgeous model slash genius who makes him laugh.” Spencer squeezed Derek’s hand, beaming at Stiles, “and I know that he deserves it. He deserves someone who is so compatible with him, who is just as excellent as he is, maybe even more. And I sincerely hope that the two of you have a great life together.”

He concluded, shoving the mic back at the host, and hurried back to his seat as everyone clapped.

“That was great!” Kira said.

“I thought so too.” Jackson noted, genuine for once though unwilling to admit it.

Stiles shrugged, sighing heavily and slumping back in his seat, glad that it was finally over, moving on to some girl with an Australian accent wearing a radiatingly pink dress. He couldn’t help but have a somewhat bitter tone as he wished the couple “a great life together”, because it was not so much a congratulation as a sorrow farewell.

After all the toasts have been delivered, the final mixer set in. Everyone joined the floors to dance, Scott taking Allison by the hand, tilting his head to ask if Stiles was coming. Stiles smiled, “I think I’m gonna go. Take the bus.” He didn’t feel like staying anymore. Maybe he would’ve stayed if somebody asked him to, but everyone seemed too preoccupied anyway.

Slowly walking out the meandering hotel, past the bushels of wilting roses, into the courtyard that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. He saw the dying fire of the sun. The tip of the sun hid itself behind reckless waves, its pale light washing aboard on the sand. He stood there, imagining himself as one with the waters – if only he could be so fluid.

He felt powerless. He tossed his jacket into the Ocean, thinking the salty waves could carry the piece of his past away from him. He stood there in a wrinkled white t-shirt, his shoes soiled with muddy sand, thinking about nothing. Nothing except the laughter that drifts into his years from the ballroom, the faint thumping of music, shrouded by the soothing tides.

“You came.”

Stiles looked behind him, eyes widening as he saw the last person he expected. The sky was a violet and grey now, lights alongside the beach switched on one by one.

“Of course I came.” Stiles replied, kicking the ground with his toes, before turning to look at Derek. He couldn’t see Derek’s face very well. Only the shining whites of his eyes, the tightness of those lips he traced his fingers on so many times.

They stood there, looking at each other, before Stiles broke the silence. “Great wedding you got here.” He rubbed his neck with one hand, the other slipping into the pocket of his jacket – oh wait, he just threw that into the sea.

“I hope you didn’t mind me inviting you. Spencer insisted. I never really told him about, us. And sorry about you having to give that speech, I had no idea where they came up with that stupid lottery idea.” Stiles laughed at how fidgety Derek looked.

“Sure.”

The silence settled in again. They stay there, standing like stone statues, a thousand words crawling behind their skin in their viscera yet nothing comes out. They’re statues, after all, they don’t talk.

“How are things?” Derek asked, his voice soft. His eyes soft.

“Eh. It’s stressful. My Community based corrections teacher’s a bitch, so I wrote a paper on the history of cannibalism just to piss her off. You’d be surprised to know how many wannabe killers tried to be cannibals but realized they’re just not psychopathic enough for that. Shit, I’m rambling again. I need someone to stop me when I do these things, you know?”

The two of them smiled, like they existed in some different time zone where nothing had happened only to time travel back a second later. Derek’s face lit up slightly, as if he was whispering _yeah, I know._

“I’m sorry.”

“About the way I left things. I never meant to hurt you. You know that, right, Stiles?” Derek wanted to scream how much he missed the boy, how much of his heart chambers still held love.

“No, no, I get it. I’m a bit too much sometimes. I’m surprised I even HAVE friends.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.” Derek frowned.

“Of course, Der. The police of self-demeaning jokes.” He chuckled, the nickname just slipped out of his mouth. He didn’t mean to have the double entendre: The Police sang the song they danced to at their prom. The most played song on his Spotify. He’s a sucker for old music.

Derek’s eyes flickered, as if he caught the coincidence, falling through gaps of time into that old Midsummer night gym.

Somehow, in that twilight zone of the isolated seaside, where clumps of sand fretted in saline water. Everything was okay.

“I’m fine now, truly.” He wasn’t. “You seem very happy.”

Derek’s head fell down a bit, “yeah. I am.” He said, eyes riveted to the ground.

“Good.” It sounded like a sigh. He stared at the top of the man’s head, full of tousled black hair he fisted his hand in when he came, moaning his name like a prayer.

So he did, slowly, raised his hand over Derek’s head. He felt the man freeze, muscles tense. His hand fell to Derek’s shoulder, tracing over his back, down around his waist. Maybe it was the booze giving him courage. His other arm followed, wrapping around Derek, who was staring at him now, stunned.

“Please.”

He rested his face into the crook of Derek’s neck, breathing into the smell of cotton and cologne that smelled like sakura and vanilla.

“Just for a minute.”

He didn’t care how pathetic he looked.

Just a farewell hug.

Derek didn’t hug back. Stiles didn’t see his struggling hands that came inches close yet to his waist yet dropped back. Like his limbs were fighting themselves.

The two of them stood there, the sky almost completely dark, semicircles of the beach lit up with lights. The scent of each other rushing into their nostrils.

Stiles breathed in heavily, letting go and stepping back, slightly trembling. His eyes were pink and his face was too, but nobody could tell anyway.

Derek didn’t look like a scared wolf anymore, his eyes dark yet loving. They stood in front of each other, a foot apart.

“Goodbye, Derek.” Stiles said, smiling. He noted one last time how Derek looked, how good he smelled, how warm his skin was against his lips. And he turned around, and left.

Derek stood there, looking at the silhouette of a person turn into a tiny dot. He stood there for a long time. Until the sky was completely black.

***

Stiles walked, though he wanted to run back. Beg him to just ditch the wedding. He wanted to feel a hand around his arm dragging him back into a messy, wet kiss, but there was nothing.

He went on for what must’ve been ten minutes before reaching a bus stop, where a bus was already boarding. He asked if this bus was going where he wanted to go. And surprisingly, it was. The last stop. There weren’t a lot of people on, just a teenage girl reading and an old couple. They looked at him, seeing how messed up he looked, and turned back to what they were doing.

He took out his phone, pulling out his headphones and jamming the cord in. He clicked on a random playlist, hitting random shuffle.

And the first song that went on? Every Breath You Take. By The Police.

He nearly doubled down laughing at the irony. But he felt tears swelling up his eyes, streaming down his face. A broken sob broke out his throat, followed by more that struggled up his lungs. The guitar strummed.

The vehicle rushed on the highway, turning onto a bridge that spanned over a river. He saw the shore the hotel rested on, the lights still glimmering in the dark, he could almost make out the courtyard and the crystal avenue the wedding took place in.

Stiles was still crying, wiping off his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. The music played on.

_Stiles couldn’t stand the tension between them anymore. They didn’t talk in the hallways, sitting apart during lunch no longer discussing Greek mythology, and seeing that bruise was the last straw._

_He pulled up the jeep in front of the famous Hale House, banging on the door. _

_“Stiles.” Cora opened the door, pleasantly surprised, “what are you doing here?” She asked, but her dancing eyebrows made it look like she knew well._

_“I need to talk to your brother.” _

_“He’s upstairs brooding in his room. PLEASE fix him.” Cora opened the door up wider, winking at Laura who was grinning in the family room couch. _

_Stiles knocked, hearing a grumpy “come in” and pushing open the door. Derek was reading, legs folded, sitting on his bed and his gold rimmed glasses on. He was wearing a blue henley and a pair of black jeans. _

_“Stiles?!” He nearly fell off his bed, scrambling onto his feet. He tried to subtly James Bond over to his desk._

_“What’s going on?”_

_“I should be the one asking you this.” Stiles said, seeing the corkboard that hang above Derek’s desk, where a single photo of him with Stiles hang. They were both in their Beacon Hill sweatshirts, laughing hard after a win in a diner, Derek looking at Stiles with eyes full of crumbled stars. Stiles was laughing hard, neck craned up showing a line of pale skin and moles._

_This was going so much better than he expected._

_And Derek turned red. FULL ON RED. _

_“Uh…I… Thought… This was…”_

_ “Dropping this, why are you avoiding my in school? Ever since that Aaron incidence you’ve been acting like you got a fire hydrant up your ass.”_

_Derek took off his glasses, rubbing his face, back turned to Stiles. A silence hung until Derek turned around and pulled Stiles in, pressing their mouths together, his glasses hitting the bridge of stiles’s nose. Stiles made an embarrassingly high-pitched sound, but then reciprocated until the two of them ran out of breath. Their lips were red and puffy, glistening slightly._

_“I like you, Stiles. I’ve liked you for a long time. And I just never – I’m really bad at this whole flirting stuff. And when I saw you with Aaron it made me go crazy, especially after he tried to rape you. So I distanced myself trying to get over you but I can’t. I’ve never believed in this whole loving so much it hurts shit until I met you.” Derek said._

_“Well that’s stupid.” Stiles said, unable to react from what just happened._

_“I get it if you think I'm weird and never want to talk to me again. I just don’t know how to act around you.” Derek said gloomily, sitting down in his chair. _

_“That’s okay.” Stiles replied, his voice hushed, “it takes two to act. And I’ll act with you, you oblivious sourwolf.” _

_Derek’s face went blank before happiness set in, his eyes wrinkling as he smiled hard. _

_“Really?”_

_“Really really. I’ll show you.” Stiles walked over, sitting on top of Derek’s lap, pulling the boy close in for a kiss. And as they kissed and hands roamed on top of each other, they somehow made it to the bed and he was losing his plaid shirt._

_Then they were in school, hand in hand. They announced it to everyone during lunch and the reactions were gold. Scott tried to do CPR on himself while Jackson squeezed a milk box so hard it exploded. The queen Lydia, on the other hand, just smirked and patted their cheeks like a loving mother._

_And that cork board wouldn’t have one picture anymore. But dozens. Them sleeping on each other during movies, a snapshot during prom, a celebratory hug during graduation, and Derek’s favorite: a picture of Stiles smiling up at the camera, his eyes squinting as he just woke up, the left side of his face shielded with a half-clenched hand and sunlight falling on his face._

_“Goodbye, Derek.” Stiles said sassily, hanging up the call as he approached the coffee shop. And he saw his boyfriend sitting by the window, shaking his head at his phone and returning to his book with a pleasant grin on his face. Stiles opened the door, ran in and pulled him close for a kiss._

He faded out of the flashback that played like a broken vinyl as the song came to its ending. 

The sky looked broken, clouds immobile on the canvas, and the moon was slender and as sharp as a hook. The bus drove on until he got off the bus, his shadow wavering as he stumbles back into his apartment where the pillow case still smelled faintly of Derek’s shampoo because he never washed it.

Not once.

Not ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Well WHEW. I'm sorry if it was too angsty... I'm kind of a sucker for this kind of heavy angst. I tagged fluff in the tags because during the flashback there were kind of fluff?
> 
> I hope you guys liked it and PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT CUZ I'M INSECURE AND I LOVE READING COMMENTS AND IF NOT KUDOS ME CUZ I'M A STRESSED HIGH SCHOOL JUNIOR AND THIS MAY BE MY ONLY VENT FOR THE HOPELESS ROMANTIC SIDE OF ME SO THANK YOU.
> 
> I know I'm wicked and this story is very VERY sad. But sarcasm and writing are my only defenses.


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